Friday, 2 February 1877

Mme de Ballore and Jeanne spent an hour here.
Faure sang in Faust before a dazzling house.
We arrive before curtain-up. My aunt, Dina, I, Bihovetz and Meyssner.
The Marquis Rangoni arrives at once.
From the first moment to the last I am radiant for no reason; I even make several witticisms that might have had some success if... but no one will go and repeat... Oh, well! any more than anyone else’s.
And yet I ought to have been anxious, for all through dinner I did nothing but mock my mothers most cruelly about my position. As if they could do anything about it!
The General accompanies me One line blacked out In come Ricardo, Pelikan, Gautier; the box becomes crowded; Pelikan, Rangoni and Barnola slip away...
Towards the middle of the performance I go to Mme Zurmüllen’s box, to get a better view of the house and to invite her for tomorrow.
But before anything else let me say that I am dazzled, charmed, in adoration before Faure’s acting, his singing and his face. Yes... before that play-actor, precisely. It was not an actor, it was not a singer, it was not a perfect Mephistopheles, it was Satan himself. Costume, manners, faces, the illusion was complete. An infernal suppleness, a pitiless, diabolical mockery, a vile and airy philosophy,
written across the page
With claws!
Oh! I understand very well that men ruin themselves, that they die for actresses.
Beside this perfection, this genius, one saw something I shall doubtless never see again. A Marguerite who did not sing. That is a bit much, you will say? It is true. At first I thought she was nervous, frightened, and when she began the song of the King of Thule I trembled for her and became so ashamed, so appalled, that I hid at the back of the box. As if I were the singer.
She let out a moan, murmured a few notes, howled. It was so bad that the audience did not even deign to hiss.
What delicious hours I spent. The box... full of people, which kept me from falling into my black moods, from fearing everything... Heavenly music that wrapped me as if in a triple cloak of well-being, that warmed my heart! and carried me away.
During the weak passages I exchanged a few cheerful and amiable remarks with the people in the box, all of them people of wit.
This evening I was at peace, and I felt that I was happy. I no longer even hoped for that. I feel quite light, and I am going to fall on my knees before God and pray Him to watch over the healing of my throat, so that I may study singing... For that is where true life lies! that I must for
I would give whoever brought me Faure tomorrow my pearl necklace.... of false pearls.
It was Meyssner who bore the brunt of my good humour.
He was sitting quietly in a corner: quite steeped in Faure and his acting, I stood beside Meyssner, leaning against the wall and on his chair and playing with my fan as with a magic wand. It seemed to me that I was the devil, and I felt I had his tiger-cat ways. This went on for a quarter of an hour...
— Well, Monsieur, I said at last, having first signalled to the others, well, Monsieur, I have been courting you for a quarter of The General accompanies me] an hour now. Are you in love with me?
crossed out[Two lines blacked out]
The poor man, who suspected nothing, stood up stiffly and stammered, while I went on asking whether love was coming. Afterwards I had to reassure him. But it was a charming scene.
The details of Faust may please in a certain way, and thanks to the music, but the subject is disgusting. I do not say immoral, hideous; I say disgusting.

Notes

The ballad of the King of Thule, Marguerite’s song at her spinning wheel in Act 3 of Gounod’s Faust. ↩